Exposed : My Mountain Man Protector(24)

“Sorry. I’m pretty useless in the morning,” he said.



Then he glanced at me, like I was supposed to pick up this thread of conversation, change the subject or something. But I sat there and stared at him insistently, saying nothing.



If Blake wasn’t sure of this, of me, then he was going to have to come out and say it to my face.



Finally, after another minute, Blake said, “Mind if I take a walk to think?”



With my heart falling, my “sure” came out even more unenthusiastically then I’d intended. What if Blake wasn’t as sure of me as I was of him?



“Hey,” he said, touching my arm. “We’ll figure this out, okay? I just need a second to think.”



“Okay,” I said. “I’ll wait here.



So I did. I waited and I worried, and, five minutes later, Blake was back, sitting down beside me.



“Okay, so, contacting the police. I don’t think you should.”



I gaped at him. “What? Why?”



“Sorry. Don’t get me wrong; I think you’re doing the right thing facing this, turning your husband over to the police.”



“So?” I asked.



Blake wasn’t making any sense.



“It’s just—the police here, I know them, and they aren’t reliable. They won’t take your story seriously. We should go there in person. I know a guy in Aspen who works with the FBI. I think he’ll be our best bet. Anything else will just get us laughed at or hung up on.”



“Okay,” I said, still clenching my phone. “So you’re saying…”



“We’ll have to go back to your car and get your ID to prove you are who you say. You said you lost your main IDs, but that’s where you kept a passport printout, right?”



I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.



“I know it’s dangerous, but it’s our best shot,” Blake said, turning to wrap his arms around me.



I nodded again.



I was afraid of what was waiting for me at that car, and yet, in those strong, powerful arms, it felt like nothing could touch me.



The rest of the morning was full of quiet, peaceful preparation. It was comical how fast packing our things, our sleeping bags, tools, and food took. There was no more bread, but at the bottom of his massive duffel bag Blake found some crackers, so we were all set for the journey even if he didn’t hunt on the way.



I changed into my old Guess shirt and jeans. Blake and I were probably going to make quite a scene as it was by coming into town all scruffy like this. There was no point in making it worse by wearing a men’s plaid shirt and nothing else.



With one last fond look at the ranger’s station, we left. We passed by the unused dead rabbit, its head twisted in our direction, accusation in its black eyes. Why did it seem strangely prophetic?



As we walked, I finally got around to checking my phone. The deluge of messages was as bad as I had expected. My parents had texted me several times, each time growing more insistent. The latest one was an actual plea: “We’ve contacted the police. Please, please tell us where you are.”



Lila’s, on the other hand, started off jokey:



Hellooo, have you died or something??



Before it devolved into insulting:



K, I get that you’re oh so happy with Angelo, but the least you could do is respond



And then became concerned:



Claire, are you okay?



Her final message, sent yesterday, read:



Have talked to your parents. We will find you.



Seeing me reading my texts, Blake asked, “Are you going to respond?”



I kept my gaze on my phone screen. Something told me this was a trick question. Sure enough, a second later, Blake answered for me. “You can’t. Any text you send, Angelo can track. He can use it to get to you. Just another day or so for us to get to the FBI, get you protected, and then you can let everyone know you’re safe.”



I sighed.



He was right, but it was nearly unbearable to think of the pain I was causing my family and friends—had already caused them.



“Okay,” I said.



I turned my phone off and then tucked it in my pocket. Tomorrow couldn’t have come soon enough.



The trek was a long trail of déjà vu. It was an eerie, unnerving feeling, one where I both recognized everything and saw it with different eyes. The pond was now eerily still and the ground was poop free, begging the question: What had happened to the ducks? Farther on, the bluebells seemed too blue to be real, while the sunflowers looked downright fake.



My changed viewpoint was greatest, however, when it came to Blake. I smiled when I thought of how I had first seen him, of the pompous jerk I had pegged him as. Now, every one of his sure steps and every affectionate look he shot back at me filled me with such a strong joy that I wanted to throw myself on him right here and now.